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As he leaned back in the in the soft leather and thick padding of his desk chair in his corner office in the L.A. Times building, the Editor-in-Chief of the L.A. Times, William "Bill" Carstens, was a happy man.

The future was bright. John "Jack" Cutter's series on the L.A. gangs was a shoo-in to bring the paper another Pulitzer. The new book that Jack had co-authored with the Times' tech reporter, Catharine Calender, was on the bestseller list for the eighth straight week.

The court had even decided that his ex's latest grab for more money was pushing it too far.

Life was good.

Then, his phone rang.

Still glorying in the beauty of the day, he picked it up and had every tone of innocent optimism in his voice as he said, "Carstens here! What ya got?"

Though he couldn't really place it, the voice on the other end was strangely familiar, as it said, "Ah, Mr. Carstens, it has been a long time."

For some reason Bill felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he asked, "Uh, yeah. Um, who is this?"

"This is Captain Jacob Brinn, of the Argo."

Carstens' grin quirked. He glanced down at the caller ID window on his office phone. Seeing that the extension number was in the Times building itself, he chuckled. "Yeah, right. Is that you Bob? Don't you people in advertising have anything better to do than to make prank calls?"

He heard the other man chuckling before he answered, "Mr. Carstens, I did enjoy the irony of your calling me a moron upon the occasion of my last visit."

Carstens' mouth went dry as he said, "Um, that wasn't in Calendar's book..."

"I know. Both she and Mr. Cutter had been removed from your office by the federal authorities by that point in my visit."

Carstens gulped, and looked at the caller ID again. The call was definitely coming from inside the Times' building. Starting to sweat, he managed, "Um, yeah...Captain Brinn, how've you been?"

"I am doing well. I wanted to thank you for taking care of my cat during my last hiatus."

Thinking hard, Carstens turned and grabbed a book off the rack behind his desk. He threw the book across his office, where it banged into his office door.

Waiting to see if Betty, his executive assistant, would take the hint, Carstens licked his lips nervously. "Ah, yeah, sure. Um, is that why you called?"

"Actually I was wanting to set up an appointment to meet with Ms. Catharine Calendar and Mr. Jack Cutter. I'm afraid that, despite appearances, they're still being closely monitored by the government. If you could be so kind as to give them a message?"

Getting impatient, Carstens threw another book at the door. "How do you know that this line isn't, um, being monitored too?"

Captain Brinn's tone was totally cool as he said, "Oh it is. But, unlike the office phones and cell phones of Ms. Calendar and Mr. Cutter, it's only being monitored against calls originating from outside the building."

Betty finally cracked his door and peeked in. Carstens frantically waved her over. Into the phone he said, "Ah, sure. I can deliver a message..." He picked up a pen and slid a small notepad out of his desk's center drawer and started scribbling on it.

Holding the message up for Betty to see, he said into the phone, "What's the message?"

"Please ask them to meet me for dinner tonight, say seven o'clock, at the Casa de la Brea."

Betty read the message, then gave him a puzzled look.

Carstens slammed the message down and savagely underlined the words: Captain Brinn is in the building!!!!

He saw her eyes suddenly widen in shock.

Into the phone he tried to buy some time. "Hey, isn't that the new hotspot down on Wilshire?"

"Yes, it is. I'm familiar with the owner and have made reservations. Please ask them to not be late."

Betty was hurrying back to her desk as Carstens gulped, "Yeah, sure, seven o'clock."

"Thank you."

When the other man clicked off, Carstens ran for the door yelling, "Get security! Tell them to lock the building down! And I mean right now!"

The cab pulled up to the curb and the long, lanky form of John "Jack" Cutter climbed out. He turned and held the door while the slightly frumpy form of Catherine Calendar climbed out of the cab behind him. Bill Carstens popped out of the cab right behind her.

Catherine gave Bill an irritated look. "You know, the invitation was for me and Jack."

Carstens gave her a wicked grin. "Yeah. But it didn't say you couldn't bring a friend. If nothing else, I'm going to be formally introduced to this bird. He's been responsible for you two being on the missing in action list for the last two biggest stories of the century. And, I have some questions for him."

Jack chuckled. "I thought that asking questions was what you hired us for."

Carstens gave him an ugly glare. "You two call yourselves reporters? My great grandmother could do a better job. And, she's been dead for forty years."

Catharine had to hide her laugh behind a sudden coughing fit when Cutter growled, "After working for you, I know how she feels."

Carstens' reply was cut off by their arrival at the felt rope: a crowd of paparazzi, odd beautiful people hoping to get in, and a very large bouncer-type guarding the door. A tastefully discreet neon sign marked the restaurant's front entrance.

Amid the flashing bulbs of the paparazzi and the hopeful chatter of the beautiful people, Cutter turned to the very large man and said, "Jack Cutter and Catharine Calendar; we're expected."

The bouncer grunted and opened the rope for them.

As Carstens started to follow them in, the bouncer put a hand on the editor's chest and growled, "It's a private party."

Pointing to where a grinning Catharine and Cutter were disappearing through the restaurant's front door, Carstens protested, "Hey! I'm with them!"

Letting the door close, the bouncer just smiled at Carstens.

Carstens bristled and growled, "Do you know who I am?"

The bouncer didn't bat an eye as he said, "I don't care."

Carstens shook a finger in the bouncer's face. "They work for me, dammit!"

The bouncer's grin widened. "I don't."

Defeated by the glowering tower of muscle, Carstens turned and stalked off. The bouncer heard him muttering, "Just see if this ptomaine palace gets anything but thumbs-down in the Time's restaurant review!"

Chuckling at their boss's discomfiture, Catharine and Cutter stepped through the curtain that shielded the entry foyer from outside eyes, and froze.

Instead of the warm and cheerfully subdued interior of a tasteful West Hollywood hotspot, they found themselves in a very large, very dark, and very empty room.

They both flinched when a tall, auburn-haired beauty silently stepped from the shadows.

Recognizing her despite the gloom, Cutter growled, "Why, if it isn't Ms. Aut—"

He was cut off by Brooke's sharply raised hand.

The redhead waved a wand-like instrument over them. When a light flashed, she would tap the offending bit of cloth and hold out her hand. In this way she collected their cell phones, PDAs, and even Cutter's pocket game controller.

Once all electronics had been accounted for, Ms. Brooke knelt and placed the items on the floor. Then, she pulled a cheap portable CD player out of her pocket. Placing it alongside the pile of electronic gadgets, she turned it on.

The two reporters heard the happy sounds of a Hollywood hotspot, along with a maitre'd greeting them.

Standing, Brooke turned, and waving for them to follow, headed into the room's shadowed interior.

When Brooke led them through the double doors at the back of the large room, the two reporters discovered that, while the place was bare of all furnishings and decoration, it was still built as a restaurant/club.

If anything, the dusty stoves, shelves, and sinks of the abandoned kitchen were even more bleak than the bare walls and floors of the main room.

Without hesitating, Brooke led them through the darkened kitchen and over to the large, walk-in freezer. Stopping at the door, she turned to the two reporters and spoke for the first time. "Even under normal conditions your cell phones and other electronic communications devices can be traced. Also, it's a little known fact that they can be remotely activated. This allows somebody with the right equipment and know-how, like the government, to use them as an effective microphone."

She waved a hand in the general direction of the restaurant's main room. "The Boss used sound editing, and recordings he had of you two from your last voyage on the Argo, to create a recording of you two having a meal with him in a restaurant." She gave them one of her wickedly sweet smiles. "That should keep the Feds busy for a while."

Catharine shook her head. "The Feds don't know we're here. I mean nobody at the Times would have..." Even in the dim light she could see the ironic eyebrow that the deadly woman arched. Nodding, Catharine murmured, "They've had us under observation. And, couldn't have missed all the hubbub caused by Captain Brinn's call."

Brooke nodded. "That, and despite what the Boss told Mr. Carstens, the Feds are also continually monitoring the internal lines too."

Cutter was frowning. "Okay, you're telling us that he did all this to purposefully bring us here, and with the Feds in close pursuit. Why in the...Crap!"

Both he and Calendar suddenly remembered another time that Captain Brinn and Autumn Brooke had led the USF into...an ambush.

Catharine gasped. "He...You're going to blow up the building?"

Cutter was almost snarling. "With us in it!"

Brooke gave them a cold little grin and said, "No. The Boss is a little more subtle than that. Besides it wouldn't work. Because, they don't know where the Argo's at, nor where our combat support elements are. The USF won't commit themselves. They'll hold back in reserve, and let the L.A. SWAT or FBI's Hostage Rescue Squad be the door-kickers."

She shrugged. "What's the point of killing a few cops? No, I expect the L.A. SWAT team to be bashing the doors and kicking through the windows in about five minutes."

She half-turned and grabbed the freezer door. "No, the Boss did invite you to dinner, and it's to dinner we're going." As she opened the door she muttered, "If you can call a meal at dawn, dinner."

When the door to the freezer was open, Catharine and Cutter saw a crude-looking contraption. It consisted of six of Captain Brinn's familiar, watch-spring-like, very heavy-duty coils. They were arranged in a standing circle, forming a perfect hexagon, the edges of the coils just touching. It looked like an upright Star of David.

The reporters could hear the hum of heavy electrical activity. They saw that the interior of the freezer had been ripped up, and apparently every electrical circuit in the restaurant, and probably the whole block, had been wired into a very large AC-DC converter. That in turn led to the coils.

The center of the hexagon was dominated by a roiling, softly glowing, green mist.

The two reporters traded confused looks, then turned to Ms. Brooke.

She simply nodded toward the contraption. "The Boss calls it a teleporter."

She now nodded back toward the main room of the restaurant and said, "Remember, SWAT's coming. And, they will not be happy when they find that they've busted an empty bag."

She stepped up to the edge of the mist. "Dinner is this way." Then she stepped into the mist.

Cutter and Catharine traded startled looks.

Then, Catharine said, "Why not? He can get a submarine to fly." Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and into the mist.

Cutter swallowed hard. Finally he gritted his teeth and muttered, "If I come out with the head of a fly, she's the first one I'm going to bite." He stepped into the mist.

Seconds after he stepped through, minor charges strategically placed in and around the contraption detonated. They were just large enough to shatter and collapse everything into a heap of wreckage. Then, the still flowing electrical current fused and fried the wreckage beyond any recovery.

As Brooke had predicted, the SWAT people were not happy at all when, loaded for bear, they burst into the restaurant.

For that matter, neither was the bouncer at the front door.

It didn't take any interrogation at all for him to tell the police that he was just a bit actor. He'd been hired to act as a bouncer for a restaurant scene in a low-budget, reality-TV, hidden camera shoot. Or, so he had thought.

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Cutter and Calendar staggered as they stepped from the cloud of glowing green fog.

Cutter was shaking his head. "Crap! Now I know how toothpaste feels coming out of the tube."

Catharine was yawning wide and shaking her head. After a moment she twitched. Rubbing her ear she said, "My ears just popped!"

"That's because we're now a few thousand feet above sea level."

The two reporters jerked around, to see a smiling Autumn Brooke.

The contraption they'd just stepped through, an exact duplicate of the one in Los Angeles, went silent, and the glowing green fog faded from sight.

Ignoring the machine, the beautiful mercenary smiled. "I'm glad to see that you accepted the Boss's invitation. The dinner party would be so boring without the guests of honor." She turned and started up a set of stone stairs. "This way, please."

Only now did the two reporters start to take stock of their surroundings. Both gave a slight shiver, and saw that they appeared to be in a cut-stone cellar. Or at least a windowless, doorless room, that happened to have a low heavily beamed ceiling, and a stairway through the ceiling as the only exit.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they found themselves at one end of a short hallway. They followed Brooke down the hallway and through the door at the far end.

They stepped into a large room. The walls were paneled in dark wood. A long, heavy wooden table dominated the center of the room. The walls were festooned with a collection of ancient weapons, all of strange and exotic design. The eastern windows opened onto a bright dawn over rugged, snow-clad mountains.

Cutter blinked. "I don't think we're in..."

Catharine punched him in the arm. "Don't even think..."

They both turned at a familiar voice. "Welcome to Bhutan, Ms. Calendar, Mr. Cutter."

The tall, spare form of Captain Jacob Brinn stepped from the shadows to one side of the windows. He was dressed in a well-tailored, three-piece suit. In his arms he was holding a very large, gray and white cat.

Seeing who the newcomers were, the cat gave an enthusiastic, "Meorf!" Leaping from the Captain's arms, it trotted over to rub ecstatically against Catharine's legs. Bending, she picked up the cat. As it rubbed its head under her chin, she murmured, "Hey, Dammit! How's the big fella doin'?"

Captain Brinn chuckled. "He definitely knows which side his bread's buttered on."

Cutter grinned. "Hey there, furball. How's it hangin'?" He reached out a hand to stroke the cat.

And, got a claw for his trouble.

Snatching his hand back, Cutter sucked his lacerated fingers.

As the rest of them chuckled he muttered, "Damned cat."

Autumn Brooke shook her head. "He does hold a grudge. You should see what he's done to Mike Sykes."

Catharine glanced up. "Oh yeah, what's the story on Sykes? Will we get a chance to talk to him?"

Captain Brinn shook his head. "I'm afraid that we won't have the company of either Mr. Sykes or Frau Hummel on our upcoming voyage."

Cutter's eyebrows perked. "Oh? Are they all right? Were they hurt in that battle in Kentucky?"

Captain Brinn shook his head. "No. While the casualties among the Argonauts were heavy, they were unscathed. Um, while I've been able to bring the crew of the Argo up to snuff from the service-rotation personnel I maintain—with people from my various enterprises—I have instituted a new recruiting drive."

He chuckled. "Mr. Sykes' background...the skills set and knowledge that he required to become such a successful identity thief, makes him perfect for...acquisitions. He's able to work through false fronts and shell corporations as if it was second nature to him. And, he's very good at evading the inevitable efforts from the various intelligence agencies, to track my operations."

Cutter nodded. "I was wondering what you wanted with him."

Captain Brinn grinned. "I do usually have a reason for what I do. Even if it might be a bit obscure at the moment."

Looking around, Cutter asked, "We're in Butane? Where the hell's Butane?"

Catharine looked around. "It's Bhutan, not Butane. Isn't that in Asia someplace?"

Captain Brinn nodded. "It's located in the corner between China, India, and Nepal. Incidentally, it's the world's newest democracy. And, they did it all without being conquered by the United States, or with CIA assassination." He gave the two reporters a wry grin. "I believe the American government finds such a concept beyond all comprehension."

Cutter shrugged. "It seems that way sometimes. I just want to know how the hell did we get here? What was that contraption?"

Catharine said, "Yeah, Brooke called it a...teleporter?"

Captain Brinn nodded. "You remember when I told you that, by combining several Meissner field generators to surround an object, you can open a...warp in space. An artificial wormhole that would allow you to move from one spot in the galaxy to another spot instantaneously."

Catharine said, "Sure, you said it took three to six of them."

Captain Brinn nodded. "Correct. It works out that six is the most stable and useful number." He thought for a second. "There are three problems with conducting such a 'jump.' The first is that you might jump into a solid object. A very nasty, and lethal situation."

Cutter said, "That's why you don't just do it all the time. Right?"

Captain Brinn nodded. "Correct. In the large part. The second is that navigating, actually planning where you want to come out, is proving to be an incredibly difficult proposition. Even with the brain trust I've been able to set up. But, that's a problem that can only be solved with diligence and time."

He waved a hand toward the windows. "The third problem is that great masses, such as a planet or sun, create gravity wells that tend to trap such wormholes. At least the first-generation versions I've been able to develop. You will simply transport from one spot on the surface to another spot. You will pop out at roughly the same altitude from the mass." He started to absentmindedly scratch his ear. "That's why I always try to jump from a certain altitude. Actually, as high an altitude as the situation allows."

Cutter blinked. "Why?"

Captain Brinn shrugged. "If you teleport somewhere while on the ocean's surface, you will stand a roughly seventy-percent chance of popping out somewhere else on the ocean's surface. However, that leaves a thirty-percent chance of popping out...well, embedded in rock."

Cutter gulped. "Oh."

Captain Brinn said, "Oh. Now, the higher you go, the percentages of such a possibility go down significantly."

Catharine nodded. "Okay. But, how did we get here? I mean, that sure looked like absolute precision in targeting. And we came out actually underground. But, in a convenient cellar."

Brinn said, "Don't worry. I didn't put you at risk. I have found how to make teleportation absolutely safe and convenient."

Cutter gave him a wry look. "Absolutely?"

Captain Brinn nodded. "Yes. You see, if you have two of the wormhole generators—I call them teleporters—set to the same frequency and power level, they will automatically form a warp connecting the two. I might add that 'opening the hole from both ends' also cuts down on the power requirements on either end. And, quite significantly so."

Catharine was thinking hard. "So...you could set up one of these teleporters in Washington, and another in London..."

Captain Brinn smiled. "And, I can transport any number of people, or any amount of material, instantaneously, and with perfect safety."

Cutter shook his head. "The teamsters are gonna hate that."

Captain Brinn nodded. "As well as the Longshoremen's Union, the Merchant Marine, all those navy and air-force types that plan their strategies on denying the enemy's ability to move supplies, all the shipbuilders, and all the shipping and trucking companies. They all cease to have any reason to exist."

Catharine grinned. "The only reason to go to sea will be for pleasure, or to fish."

Brinn nodded. "And all those ports, that owe their existence to shipping...Well, I'm sure they'll find another reason to continue to exist. Possibly as retirement centers."

Cutter blinked. "Wait! Wasn't that the...thing in that series on the Science Fiction Channel?"

Captain Brinn cocked an ironic eyebrow at him. "Actually, two series, one major film, and multiple direct-to-DVD movies. However, it's not the same thing at all. The writers came so close. Then they took the easy way out."

Catharine was chewing her lip. "Why? I liked those shows."

Captain Brinn said, "So did I. But, they couldn't even conceive of a simple human being being able to conceive of such a device. Let alone try to explain how to build one, or how it even worked. So, it has to be some fantastic alien device that humans can hardly get to work, let alone understand, or replicate."

He shrugged. "They even had to take the standard writer's cheat of making up an unknown metal, that can't be found on earth, to explain how it could work." He shook his head, muttering, "Too bad...They were so close."

Cutter licked his lips. "Um, how big could you make one of these teleporters?"

Captain Brinn shrugged. "As big as I need. I've even built one I can sail the Argo through."

Now it was Catharine's turn to blink. "Why?"

Captain Brinn grinned. "Isn't it obvious? I can now teleport from anywhere, to a pre-set safe place, with perfect safety...any time I want. I just have to send a signal to power up the receiving teleporter."

Cutter chuckled. "The USF's gonna hate that."

Captain Brinn's smile widened. "I know."

Catharine nodded. "Um, what about Frau Hummel? You never said why she won't be going on your next trip." The big Germanic Amazon had been a favorite of Catharine's, ever since she'd taught the reporter how to fly one of the Argo's expeditionary vehicles—a multi-purpose combat/exploration vehicle disguised to look like a Hummer.

Captain Brinn and Brooke shared a laugh before he answered, "Well, in the months since the battle against the robots at Fort Knox, Frau Hummel has been working day and night on repairing and updating the Argo. It was so bad that I actually had to order her to go on vacation. Once she returns from the mandatory leave I sent her on, she'll start working on some new projects we've begun."

Cutter leaned closer to Catharine to whisper, "Did he say 'new projects'? What the hell's he up to now?"

As the two Argonauts watched in wry amusement, Catharine whispered back, "Are you sure I'm the one you should be asking?"

Cutter nodded. "Right."

Anything further was interrupted when the double doors at the far end of the room opened and Francisco, the Argo's little Hispanic chef, entered the room. Instead of the customary crew's coverall that the reporters were used to seeing him in, he was in a formal, spotless, white chef's uniform; floppy hat and all. With a gracious bow, the little man announced, "Dinner is served."

Captain Brinn returned the bow with a dignified nod. With a wave of his hand he said, "This way, please."

Still cradling Dammit in her arms, Catharine paused as she passed the grinning little chef. "Francisco! This is so nice. I haven't had a really first class meal since we left the Argo. We didn't even have time to pick up a box lunch before our little drive across the moon's surface."

Francisco's grin widened. "De nada, senorita. Usually, I would be serving breakfast. But, in honor of you and Mr. Cutter, and the time zone you're on, I have prepared a dinner meal. We'll start with the French onion soup that you like so much followed by a common garden salad, made with the freshest vegetables. Then, the main course of roast rack of lamb, with a nice cabernet sauce and mint jelly, resting on a bed of fettuccine parmesan. And, in honor of the planned destination of our next voyage, dessert is Baked Alaska."

Catharine's eyes almost seemed to gleam as she said, "Sounds delicious."

As they continued into the dining room, Cutter glared at the cat still luxuriating in the other reporter's arms and growled, "I hope I get to eat it."

From where she was walking at Cutter's elbow, Brooke purred, "Mike Sykes made an enemy of Dammit too. So far he's been almost castrated, and got dropped flat on his face."

Cutter blinked. "How could a cat...?"

Stroking Dammit, Catharine chuckled. "Better watch your back, Jack."

Giving the tall reporter a measuring look, Dammit gave him a quick little, "Meh!"

The dining room was much cozier and more warmly decorated than the main room. Its walls were lined with colorful flags from Bhutan's past. The table was smaller than the one in the main room, but just as massively built. Even the chairs were heavy and high-backed. They were deeply carved in images that were alien to Westerner's eyes.

Awaiting them in the dining room were the last two of Captain Brinn's senior staff. Dr. James, the big black doctor from deep in the American south, and the grizzled New England seaman, Mr. Greeley.

Once greetings were exchanged, they sat in their appointed seats; Captain Brinn naturally at the head of the table, Catharine Calendar and Jack Cutter flanking him.

As the crewmen of Francisco's galley and ship's services section started serving the soup, Captain Brinn turned to Catharine. "I've read your new book. Quite interesting to read another perspective of what we did, by the way. Also, I've wanted to thank you for not giving me away, when you discovered that I was in the room with you, when Captain Raphael and his USF troopers arrived to spirit you and Mr. Cutter off. I've been wanting to ask...Why didn't you give me away?"

Catharine hesitated, her spoon halfway to her mouth. After a moment she lowered it back to the bowl. With everybody at the table waiting for her answer, she picked up her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. After buying as much time as she could to think, she finally said, "I have to admit, it was a whole twilight zone moment. I mean, there we all were. Raphael and his goons there, wanting to find you in the worst way possible and...nobody can see you standing right there in front of us. If it hadn't been for Dammit being the only one who recognized you in that janitor's uniform, even I might have missed it."

At the mention of his name, Dammit gave an enthusiastic, "Meorf!" and jumped up on the corner of the table at Captain Brinn's elbow.

The Captain smiled and gently nudged the cat off the table. "I'll have to talk to you later about blowing my cover."

As he jumped down, Dammit's "Meor" sounded almost contrite.

Everybody was laughing so hard, they had to delay the salad.

When things had quieted down, Catharine continued, "Anyhow, I figured that...like I said then, if you'd wanted to hurt us, you had all the opportunity in the world before Raphael and company showed up. But, I also figured that you wouldn't have come there without some means of defending yourself. And, while I didn't know what that was, I knew what Raphael and those guys would do. Pull out their guns and start shooting. And, I didn't want to end up being a target of opportunity in a shooting gallery..." She took a bite of lettuce before finishing. "Besides, the situation was just so...ironic." She couldn't help dissolving into laughter again, at the very memory.

Relenting, a laughing Captain Brinn turned to Jack. "So, Mr. Cutter, how did you like working for the other side?"

Jack was enjoying a large bite of tomato and had to finish before answering, "Well, for one thing..." He looked over at the still laughing Catharine. "They're a whole lot less fun. And..." Here he lifted another forkful of salad. "They don't set nearly as nice a table." After his next bite he said, "I hope you don't mind. We really didn't have much choice as to whether to help them or not."

The Captain took a sip of wine before smiling. "Think nothing of it. Ever since Operation Paperclip at the end of World War Two, they've been experts at recruiting their enemies to work for them."

Conversation came to an end as the main course arrived.

Unnoticed by all, Dammit was prowling around under the table, hoping for a dropped morsel, or a friendly diner sneaking him a bit.

Once the course was served, Catharine turned to Captain Brinn. "Um, you've mentioned a new voyage. Is that why we're here?"

Savoring a bite of lamb with just a touch of the cabernet sauce, the Captain nodded. "Yes. I'd like to ask the two of you to accompany us on the voyage."

His mouth full of food, Cutter shook his head. Swallowing, he gave the Captain a hard look. "The last time, your invitation was a prelude to murder." He lifted a chop by the rib-end and pointed it at the Captain like a gun. "If you're planning more of the same, you can go to hell." In his agitation, he unconsciously shifted his feet, bringing it down on Dammit's tail.

Yowling, the cat spun and raked his claws across the sock covering Jack's ankle.

Everybody had just started to react to Dammit's cry, when Jack gave a "Yeoch!" of his own, and the table suddenly lurched. Dropping his chop, Jack gasped and slowly doubled up in pain.

The others looked up to see Dammit running from the room.

Concern crossing his face, Captain Brinn asked, "Mr. Cutter, are you okay?"

After a moment, the gasping Cutter shook his head and muttered, "I hate that damned cat."

Catharine was laughing so hard, she could hardly gasp out, "What happened?"

Rubbing his leg, Cutter was starting to recover a bit of composure as he said, "I guess I accidentally kicked him. He clawed me, and when I jumped, I banged my knee on the table. Damn, that hurts!"

This caused the others to dissolve into laughter again.

Glaring around the table, Cutter muttered, "I thank you for your commiseration in my time of pain."

Holding her sides with laughter, Catharine was barely able to blurt out, "I...I think you know...that this...means war."

It took quite a bit before a modicum of decorum returned to the room. Every time things started settling down, somebody would wave a chop, or make a "cat" noise and set everybody off again.

Once things had settled down, Catharine caught Cutter's eye. "I told you to watch your back, Jack. I guess I should have warned you to watch your big feet instead."

This time the Captain at least managed to maintain the ragged edge of composure. When he was finally able to get some quiet, he raised his hand and said, "Mr. Cutter, this time the Argo is departing on a voyage of exploration. I assure you that a confrontation with the world's military is the last thing I want."

Cutter nodded. "Then, I'm in."

The Captain turned to Catharine. "And you, Ms. Calender? Are you ready to take another voyage with the Argonauts?"

She put her fork down and thoughtfully chewed for a moment. Swallowing, she answered, "I have just one question. Why Fort Knox? If it was you putting on a show, why? And, if it was you that stopped somebody else's attack, why? You've fought the US before. They have a death warrant out on you. Why would you save American soldiers?"

Captain Brinn's expression went deadly serious as he answered, "Ms. Calender, I assure you I will never sacrifice anybody needlessly. The attack on Fort Knox was not my doing. It was the action of...AJAX. Ajax is a person who has reasons to hate the government of the United States. Reasons, that if I were in Ajax's position, I would consider taking the same course."

He took a sip of wine. "As for saving the American troops...I'm trying to introduce new technology to the world. The only way I can see to minimize the inevitable upheaval this will cause...is to do it with the cooperation and planning of the major powers, in particular the United States. Their initial response to my efforts was violence. I then moved to use controlled violence, to show them exactly how vulnerable they were to these new technologies."

He sighed. "But, Ajax was determined to decapitate the government of the United States. I can't get their cooperation if they're dead. So, I put myself, the Argonauts, and the Argo into harms way...to save the lives of those sworn to kill me."

Catharine nodded. Picking up her wineglass, she raised it and said, "I'm in."

Smiling, Captain Brinn nodded and said, "Excellent!"

Cutter licked his lips and dabbed them with his napkin before asking, "Where're we headed?"

With his heavy New England accent, Mr. Greeley was the first to say, "Aye, that's somethin we'd all like ta know. Tha Cap'n's been real tight-lipped about that."

The Captain nodded. "Mr. Cutter, we're going to take a voyage to what has been called 'a warm and green land far to the north'."

Catharine gave a start. "Anchorage! That's what that professor at the University of Alaska in Anchorage said you had been asking about. What is this place? What is warm and green north of Alaska?"

The Captain chuckled. "That, my dear, is exactly what we're going to be finding out."

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The part of the rear bulkhead, that wasn’t taken up by the two hatches that led to the rest of the ship, was covered with various gauges and meters, and dominated by a big screen that was currently showing a map of the surrounding arctic.

Looking into the cube, Cutter and Catharine were watching a tiny image of the Argo, demonstrating the most impressive of Captain Brinn’s modifications—anti-gravity.

Cutter turned to the Captain. "I lost count. How many were there?"

Captain Brinn cocked his head for a moment, calculating. "About two dozen assorted Charlies, Alphas, and Akulas. They also had the three Epsilon-class boats that are assigned to their northern fleet."

Catharine shook her head. "What happened? How did they find us?"

Captain Brinn said, "It could have been anything. The Arctic Ocean, especially when it’s covered with ice, doesn’t have any other traffic to confuse sensors. Maybe we were picked up by a lucky artificial-aperature satellite sweep." He chuckled. "Though, with all of them in the area at the same time, my guess would be that they were staging one of their periodic fleet maneuvers. And, we just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He turned toward the ship’s systems station. "Systems, how far to the target area?"

The crewman checked his computer readout. "Sir, two minutes at this speed."

Catharine was still staring at the image in the cube. "I wonder why they don’t have bombers in the area. Surely they would have known that we’d just—"

The crewman at the sensor’s station spoke up. "Sir, I have three...make that six, USF strike craft inbound. They’re coming down from the high-lunar orbit of their station."

In the cube, the image of the black triangular-shaped craft appeared. They were high, and dropping fast.

Cutter shrugged. "I guess they were holding the bombers back, because they weren’t needed."

Captain Brinn studied the image in the cube for a moment. Then, turning to the pilot’s station he ordered, "Mr. Greeley, when we reach latitude eighty-four-point-four, bring us to a vertical orientation with the nose down. Use the cannon to blow a hole in the ice. Then go straight down. Flank speed, if you please."

The grizzled seaman nodded. "Aye, Cap’n."

Cutter nodded toward the cube. "Um, Captain, I don’t want to rain on your parade...but, there’s no warm and green land anywhere in sight."

The Captain gave him a sincere smile. "Patience, my dear Mr. Cutter, patience." He waved a hand toward the image of the fast approaching strike craft. "At least I won’t have to send them a message, telling the USF where to follow me."

Catharine blinked. "What?"

The Captain now smiled at her. "I want them to follow me. That way they can be the ones to report...A report that should really push the government to release the new technologies."

Catharine shook her head. "I don’t understand..."

The Captain shrugged. "The last time I tried to make this voyage, I started laying a line of breadcrumbs for them to follow."

Cutter nodded. "That ambush. The one outside Anchorage, when you were—"

"Visiting the good professor." The Captain nodded. "Yes, I wanted to make sure they noticed I was there."

Catharine said, "I was wondering about that."

The crewman at the ship’s systems station spoke up. "Captain, we’re on station."

"Right. How long on the enemy strike craft?"

The crewman at the sensor station was quick to answer, "Three minutes, sir."

Captain Brinn nodded. "Alright. Mr. Greeley, execute."

"Aye, Cap’n." The grizzled seaman started working the ship’s guidance controls.

To the people in the control room, the only thing giving away the ship’s complex maneuvers, was the image in the cube, and the view through the ship’s transparent nose.

Cutter grinned. "I do love his artificial gravity."

Once the ship was vertical, it shot straight down, spearing toward the ice pack. Almost immediately, the twin fixed cannon that ran forward from the conning tower, on each side of the ship’s upper curve, began to blast round after round into the ice below.

At Cutter and Calendar’s surprised looks, Captain Brinn shrugged and said, "The battles in Kentucky and on the moon showed that I needed an improved armor-piercing capability. I replaced the plasma cannon in the nose of the ship with more conventional cannon."

Shattered and smoking, the ice was hurled aside, as the Argo speared into the water underneath.

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